One Night Only
by kittsbud
Summary: The boys settle in for a quiet Xmas in a small fishing town, but no sooner have they arrived than a weird mist appears, bringing with it a taste of heaven, hell and everything in between. Can they solve an age old case and save numerous souls? Dean/Sam PV
1. Chapter 1

**One Night Only**

_Author's note: The town in this story is totally based on fiction and is not intended to represent any real places with the same nam**e! **_

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St Anthony's Cove is just a small recession hit town this side of Santa Barbara. It has an average population, and average unemployment rate, and a pretty below average local bar.

Believe me, I know, I've sampled it.

The place used to be a thriving fishing village back in the day, but that day has long gone, and the only thing left to show for it is a broken down old cannery that takes up a hunk of the bay front area.

The folks at the cove have their own lighthouse, their own radio station and a small lodge out on the adjoining road called the Seagrass Motel, but for anything else, you'll need to travel into nearby Goleta or put up and shut up.

Yep, St Anthony's Cove is the kind of place you'll find on the Hallmark channel. A place where Jessica Fletcher might thrive, but where a hunter like myself would either go bucket's of crazy or shoot himself – and I don't mean in the foot.

The town's only claim to real fame was way on back in 1906, when a minor aftershock from the 'frisco quake knocked over a misplaced lantern and the now defunct cannery's predecessor burned to the ground.

Yessir, the Cove is a regular hive of activity – if you're about ninety-five.

And yet, late last Christmas Eve, me and my brother Sammy found ourselves travelling towards this humdrum little town via the winding coastal road from Cali.

Maybe you think it's just what two weary hunters might crave. A place to hold up and finally have one normal day.

Just one damn day when we could be like everybody else.

Eat drink and be very merry.

Because you're so not gonna find anything supernatural, or crazy-ass in St Anthony's Cove right? Hell, no self respecting spook, demon or freak would come within a hundred miles of this town, especially not at Christmas.

But then, you'd be wrong.

Dead wrong…

_**Just outside St Anthony's Cove**_

_**Christmas Eve 2011**_

Sometimes, just sometimes I have to wonder what goes on inside that thick skull of my brother's. Other times, well I can read him like a dime novel. Right now, as I guided the Impala past the towering form of the local lighthouse, I could tell that Sam was thinking about the last few months.

Some days he still doesn't talk to me over Amy's death – well, murder as he puts it. Other times, he starts to get pissy and then just clams up again.

I like to think that he's wrong and that I didn't overstep the mark, but the nightmares I still have about it tell me otherwise. I've hunted and killed my fair share of crap. Hell, more than my fair share, but maybe, just maybe, once I made the wrong call.

All I know is that the afterimage of Amy's kid looking at me from that doorway is burned into my retinas for all eternity. But I can't tell Sammy that. Not now, maybe not ever.

I looked over to him as the spinning light above us cut through the darkness, skimming over a thin fog bank that had started to appear at ground level about a half a mile back.

"Tell me again why we're headed for the most boring town in the state on Christmas Eve?" I glanced over to Sam as I drove, hoping to drag a conversation from him.

"Because it's the nearest place that had a motel room without driving half the night," he answered sombrely. "And because I don't want to spend yet another Christmas in this car."

I frowned, feigning hurt pride. Then I tapped the car's wheel appreciatively. "Don't listen to him, baby."

He smiled then and flicked on the radio. "Maybe I can get you in the mood with a few carols," he chuckled.

Instead, _Something To Believe In_ by Poison filled the airwaves. It was my turn to grin. "Now _that _is more like it, Sasquatch. Who says you can't have rock at Christmas, huh?"

The music faded and the voice of the local DJ crackled through my baby's speakers. He had one of those annoying voices that sounded like he should be advetizing baby milk or something.

_So, are all you weary Christmas shoppers finally ready for Santa tomorrow? I hope so, because the stores are all closed, and its time to sit back and relax with SAKB as we wile the last few hours away with some classic tunes…_

_Next up, some aptly titled Deep Purple, but first a local weather report…_

_Dan, everybody's favourite weather man informs us that there's the likelihood of some light mist in all areas tonight as the unusually warm temperature over coastal areas causes what he calls an "advection fog". In short, folks, turn on your lights and keep your eyes peeled for…_

Music began to pour from the speakers again and I instantly recognized it as _Smoke on the Water. _

As the tune grew in intensity, I finally spotted my target. Up ahead was a badly-illuminated motel that's neon sign was only half lit. I could see a few rooms, and behind the place, slightly elevated on a hillock was an ancient, crumbling house.

I pulled up the Impala and could see Sammy was thinking the same as me.

"Are you _sure_ you don't wanna spend the night in the Impala?" I asked, only half-joking.

Sam rolled his eyes and dragged his huge butt from the car. With two strides he was in a grotty little office that definitely hadn't been decorated since the fifties.

"Excuse me, we have a room booked for a couple of nights?"

I watched the exchange with amusement.

"Excuse me, I err, rang earlier?" Sam tried again, and eventually the short, skinny-assed little man actually bothered to turn and face us.

He had even more acidic features than I expected and I just couldn't resist a quip. "Don't tell me you got mom decomposing upstairs in a rocking chair?"

I grinned. I can be an ass sometimes, what can I say?

The guy looked at me and I expected a rebuttal, but I swear he didn't even get what I was insinuating. "You know, Anthony Perkins? _Psycho_?"

"Do you want the room or not?"

Sam snatched a small set of keys from "Norman's" hands. "We want the room." And with that he dived back out the office, dragging me with him as I tossed a few crumpled notes on the counter. "Dean! What's with you? Do you have to pull that _Psycho_ crap at every motel we stay in?"

"Aww c'mon Sammy, you were thinkin' it too. I'm telling you man, just don't use the showers here…"

Sam groaned and scooted back over to the Impala to get our gear from the trunk. I took in my bag, a pack of beer and a bottle of Jack D's finest.

Hey, it was the festive season, and I planned on being _very_ festive.

Luckily the key Sam had been so quick to grab had our room number on it, or we might have had to revisit Mr Creepy. As it was, we found "101" right in front of where I'd parked.

I hoped that was just a coincidence as we settled inside.

And heck, did this place even have over a hundred rooms?

I don't think so…

"So, should I bother putting up the tree?" Sam was rifling through his holdall as he spoke.

"Dude, we _have_ a tree?"

A tiny effigy of a pine tree emerged from Sam's bag and he smirked at me. "Now we do!" He stuck the dang thing on the table between our beds and rubbed his hands together. "We're going to have a good time here, Dean. No hunting, no killing. Just us."

I shook the bottle I'd brought in. "Us and Jack," I corrected. "And hopefully some semi-naked beauties cavorting around your laptop screen and I may die happy tonight."

Sam grimaced. "I doubt we'll get a connection out here…."

I had kinda suspected as much. "And the TV? Just don't tell me all we got is local crap and no movies?" I decapitated a bottle of Coors, took a swig and grabbed the tiny, busted up TV's remote.

The thing came on – that in itself was a miracle.

After ten seconds of flicking through channels I dropped on the end of my bed. "Oh yeah, this will do nicely!" I swung my legs on top of the throw, worked my back into the two pillows and got comfy.

Sam looked at me incredulous at what I was about to do. "Dean, you're going to watch a horror movie fest on Christmas Eve? That's just not…_right_."

"Craven, Carpenter? Are you kidding me? That's _heaven!"_ I reached over into my bag and pulled out a huge bag of M&M's.

Sometimes it can be insanely funny to watch the Hollywood take on our world.

Sam looked disappointed. "How can you watch that stuff, given what we do?"

"Easy!" I turned up the volume as _The Fog_ began to open up on screen. That opener with John Houseman is just freakin' awesome, after all.

I stuffed in a mouthful of chocolate and was about to take another swig of beer when the TV started to flicker. The images began to blur and the volume buzzed like screaming static.

Annoyed, I got up and slapped the thing on the back, but that seemed to aggravate it more. What was left of the picture began to roll and turn to a thick grey miasma until the screen was filled with nothing but dots.

"Aww, you've gotta be kidding me!"

The TV banged and the screen turned to complete black.

"Guess Kitsune's aren't the only thing you're good at killing…"

I stopped dead in my tracks.

I probably deserved the jibe, but there is only so much guilt you can have poured on you without snapping.

So I snapped.

"Is that what tonight is gonna be about?" I barked. "_Huh?_ I get it, Sam. I really do. You're pissed at me, will be forever pissed at me, and you're within you're rights to punch my lights out. So why don't you come on over here and get it over with?"

He looked at me.

Just _looked._

"Because it's Christmas…"

Damn him. Trust Sam to come up with a schmaltzy one line answer I couldn't bounce back off.

I grabbed the Impala's keys instead. "If I'm gonna listen to this all night I need more beer. Hell, _more bourbon_!"

"Don't you think you've had enough of that stuff lately," he retorted.

"Nope, not by half." I slammed the door behind me, then paused when I realized the radio DJ's slight mist had actually turned into a full-on fog bank.

Reflexively, I shivered.

I don't know what it was, but something was eating at me here, and no, I don't mean Sammy's attitude.

The air around me was crisp and cold, and I could feel the moisture from it on my skin.

I patted the Colt hidden in my waistband and somehow found it comforting to feel the hunk of steel right where it should be.

"Going out so late?"

I spun around to see the skinny motel owner staring at me through beady eyes. Funny, but it wasn't him that was creeping me out so much, it was the dang fog.

"I err, was gonna look for a twenty-four hour store and grab some beers." I looked around me at the fog and shrugged. "Hadn't expected this, though."

"Hank's one stop is open until eleven tonight. He's just off the main road before you get to town. You might just catch him."

"Norman" sauntered off then, vanishing into the swirling mist and presumably back into his office.

I frowned, but climbed into the Impala anyway.

Why the hell was I out here?

I remembered Sam's face, and Amy's shocked expression as I'd stuck the knife in flashed across my conscience.

I quickly turned the car's ignition and felt the GM motor grumble to life.

Maybe it was better if I spent an hour or so out to let Sam cool down and for my stupid, stubborn streak to subside.

As I pulled out from the motel, I tried to focus on the road, not my guilt complex.

Well, I would have concentrated on the road, had I been able to see it.

The fog was getting thicker until my old girl's lights didn't seem to have any effect on it anymore.

I turned up the heater, but the chill inside the car didn't go away, either.

Suddenly, I felt alone, and couldn't resist the urge to flick on the radio. The local station was still transmitting, but the weather must have been interfering with the signal, because all I got was bursts of static and the odd explosion of sound as the DJ's voice tried to give out the news.

It sounded like there'd been some trouble in town. I caught the mention of a "victim" and raised my brows in surprise. "Jeez, there's actually someone with enough jewels to off someone in this place?" I said to no one in particular.

Something spattered on my windshield and I turned on the wipers before realizing it was the shredded remains of a dead bat.

A truck horn screamed from the heart of nowhere, deafening me as the lights of a Mack semi filled the Impala's rearview just a little too much.

I raised a hand, expecting the impact as the truck ran into the Impala's butt, instead the manic trucker roared past me at the last moment, his trailer swaying wildly as he took the next corner on the wrong side of the road.

I flipped him the bird, knowing he had no way of actually seeing the motion but somehow getting satisfaction from it all the same. "Jackass!" I howled, my head pocking out the side window angrily.

The semi was swallowed by the dense murk around me and was gone before I could blink a second time.

Maybe this drive wasn't such a good idea after all?

I squinted, looking for the center road markings, but instead finally saw bright lights in the distance that were intense enough to cut through the gloop.

I sighed with relief.

Was something actually giving me, Dean Winchester, the willies out here?

I told myself it wasn't.

But I was lying.

As I pulled in front of Hank's I noted a black rig parked out back. _Okay, so the dickwad that almost creamed my ass is inside. Just don't go getting thrown in the local jail on Christmas Eve_, I begged my own ego.

I wandered into the store and shivered again. Sheesh, didn't these tin-pot little towns know what heating was?

The tiny hairs on my skin began to stand on end, and as I looked down each of the aisles and saw no one, I felt compelled to draw my gun.

Call it an abrupt knee-jerk reaction, but it was right on the money.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

Don't ask me why, but I _knew_ I wasn't going to get a response.

Carefully, I edged sideways towards the counter. Where was Hank and where was my mad-ass trucker friend?

I checked my watch. It was 11.15pm. The store should be closed now anyway.

"Hello?" I tried again and heard my own voice crack.

Something was eating at me.

Something was familiar about all this, and yet, _not_ familiar.

St Anthony's Cove.

Fog.

Seagrass.

Lighthouse.

Local radio.

Finally my brain did the math and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The next part of the equation was _death._

I knew that much, because I was living out scenes from a movie that were morphing and taking on a life of their own wasn't I? A movie I'd not half an hour ago sat down to watch.

It was like the Trickster, or should I say Gabriel was messing with me and Sammy all over again – except this time good old Gabe couldn't be in the running. His ass had been fried way too long ago for any of this to be his doing.

A girl screamed from somewhere out back and I hesitated, wondering what was reality, and what was in my head.

In the end, I gave in to temptation and dodged behind the counter into a dimly lit stockroom.

At the far end, a young woman of about twenty-five was backed up against a wall, her hands covering her mouth, her skin ghostly white.

For now, I resisted the urge to call her in case we weren't alone in the room. Instead, I quietly picked my way through the shadows until I was adjacent to her, but still in the half-light.

My eyes darted to every corner, every possible hiding place, but I saw nothing, no one.

On impulse, I let my gaze follow the girl's stare and I realized a thick oozing carpet of fog had seeped under the store's back door and was covering the floor almost up to where we both stood.

The mist writhed and ebbed like it was a living thing rather than an act of nature. But it didn't move any nearer.

I felt myself transfixed by it.

The vapour seemed to sense it had an audience in me and the girl and shyly began to back away, pulsing and shimmering with a strange aura until it had vanished completely back under the door and into the night.

What it left behind gave me a better understanding of why the girl had screamed in the first place.

On the concrete floor near the rear exit was a body.

Or, what was left of a body.

From the long greying hair and remnants of a beard, I could only guess this had once been Hank, the owner of the establishment.

I carefully moved into the light keeping my weapon drawn, but letting the young woman see me.

She flinched at my presence, but didn't attempt to run.

"He's…he's _dead"_

I scratched at my head with my free hand in wonder that she'd even had to voice the fact. Maybe it was shock or something. "Lady, he's more than dead, he's total dog chow."

Okay, so sometimes I'm not the best with words, but that's usually Sammy's department.

She looked at me then and I could see fear in her eyes, but determination too. She may have cried out earlier, but this chick was not your regular everyday screamer, trust me, I can tell.

I slid a hand to my jeans and withdrew a false FBI badge I'd used on a previous gig. "Can you tell me exactly what's going on here, miss?" I thought about it. "Maybe starting with your name and what you're doing here?"

She relaxed a little at the sight of the badge, but took a few seconds to compose herself before answering. "I'm Denise, but my friend's call me Denny. We were having a party and ran out of beer…"

"So you thought you'd see if Hank was still open?" I pressed.

"The lights were on and the door was open, so I came in the store even though it was past eleven. When I couldn't see Hank anywhere I was about to leave again when I heard…well I heard some_thing_. Like a growl, maybe. I know I shouldn't have come in here, but I was worried about Hank and…"

Denny's voice petered out and I guessed what she'd seen next hadn't been pretty. My eyes returned to Hank's body and I took in the damage. He'd been shredded.

Literally.

Blood pooled on the floor around tattered sinew and obliterated bone.

The closest thing I could liken it too was when the hellhounds had torn at me, but that wasn't a memory I wanted refreshing, and even that hadn't been this bad. "Did you see what did this?"

Denny closed her eyes and inhaled. "The fog was everywhere back here, but I could make out shapes, two of them. A man and a…"

"A _what_?" Jeez, this was like pulling teeth.

"You'll think I'm crazy, but I swear there was some kind of creature in the fog. Maybe even _made up_ of the fog." She shook her head as if she sounded mad, even to her own ears.

I put a hand on her arm. "Actually, I think you're pretty sane, given the state of Hank's body. You say there was a man? Did you get a look at him?"

I kneeled to check the floor for boot prints in the blood – anything to indicate what or who had been here. Maybe some sulphur or ectoplasm?

But there was nothing.

"I didn't see much. I think he had jeans on, a plaid shirt, cowboy boots and a baseball cap. The cap was grimy, you know, oily."

I nodded. Some things were fitting into place at least. "Like the kinda hat a trucker might wear?" She nodded. So, what kind of monster was I dealing with? "Did you see his eyes? What colour were they? Red? Yellow? Black?"

Denny looked at me like I was the one who had suddenly gone whacko. "Actually, I think they were plain old blue. I couldn't make out his face much, though, because he had one of those bandana things pulled up right the way over his nose."

I cringed. Was I dealing with a human that was whacked out of his gourd and a girl who thought she'd seen a monster, or was there really something spooky going down in the Cove? Oh, and how could I forget all the "Fog" references that were sticking their asses up everywhere?

"Maybe we should try and call the Sheriff," Denny offered.

Somehow, I doubted that was going to be possible, but I pulled out my cell anyway and checked the line. It was dead.

Whatever was in the bizarre mist was dampening the signal. I saw the girl looking at me expectantly as I eyed the phone and I shook my head. "Not a chance. This thing is a s dead as," I glanced over to the mush on the floor that had once been Hank and didn't finish my sentence.

Denny shook a little and rubbed at her arms, uneasiness chilling her bones. "Look, no offence, but what if this mad guy is still out there? You're only one man, FBI or not."

I looked at her, amazement at my own stupidity creasing the features of my face into a grimace. "How could I have been so dumb!" I made a dash for the front door of the store as fast as my legs would carry me.

When I'd arrived, the semi had been out back, and while I'd talked to Denny, I hadn't hear its engine roar into life.

The sonofabitch who'd wasted poor old Hank was still here somewhere.

As I slammed through the double glass doors, finally I heard the rattle of a big block diesel grumble as it cranked. I skidded to a stop by the side of the Impala and looked around in the swirling mist until my eyes were able to focus in it just a little.

The truck's air brakes hissed like a serpent and its twin stacks belched surreal red smoke into the moist atmosphere.

I ignored the fact that it was headed for me and honed in on the front window, capping off five maybe six rounds into the glass.

Nothing shattered.

Instead the panes seemed to absorb the bullets like a friggin' T2!

The semi's speed increased and I guessed that instead of damaging it, I'd simply pissed off the driver.

It bore down on the Impala and I should have dived out of the way and taken cover. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

I stood there, waiting to be turned into ground beef and not even knowing why my legs wouldn't move.

I closed my eyes seconds before the impact.

And opened them again when nothing mangled my flesh to pulp.

The truck was gone, literally disintegrating before it hit me.

I blew out a breath and realized Denny was standing in the store doorway blinking as if her eyes had deceived her. "Maybe I drank more at the party than I realized," she suggested. "Because the things I'm seeing out here can't be real."

I opened the Impala door for her, ushering her inside as I stuffed the Colt back in my waistband. "Trust me, sister, they're real, and I don't think we've seen the half of it yet."

As I hit the gas and churned up gravel, exiting the tiny parking lot, Denny pulled out a small bottle of bourbon I can only assume she rifled from Hank's. She twisted off the top and took a swig, letting it warm her through.

Wiping the top with her palm, she offered it me next.

I thought about it. I thought about all the whiskey and rot gut I'd tossed down my throat over the months since Amy, since Sam's "Hell-wall" issues, and since Cas's death.

Suddenly, its taste felt like a bittersweet reminder to me rather than a sugar-coated comforter and I pushed the bottle back. "No thanks." I said gruffly.

I saw her reflection in the windshield take another gulp. "So do you know what's happening? I mean, this has to be some kind of prank. Something just isn't right. It's all so crazy." She didn't sound scared now, just confused beyond belief. "It's Christmas Eve, for heaven's sake!"

"Christmas doesn't mean a thing to these kinds of…jerks, and crazy doesn't even come close, not ever. I've spent half the night living through references to a horror flick, chasing a mad trucker with a half invisible monster for a sidekick, oh yeah, and my brother is pissed at me."

I stopped complaining as the reality of my last statement kicked in.

_Sam. _

The semi was heading right back the way it had come.

Right back the way _I_ had come.

I floored the Impala's gas pedal even though I had almost zero visibility.

We hit a bump and the car swerved madly, fishtailing before I regained control.

Denny grabbed her seat and swallowed hard, her eyes wide. "What's the hurry?" She asked, her expression saying she may already know the answer. "You're not trying to catch that thing, _are you_?"

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white and I began to sweat even in the cold air.

"That sonofabitch is heading right for The Seagrass Motel," I said through gritted teeth. "So yeah, maybe I do need to catch up with him, before he catches up with Sammy."

She seemed even more confused. "Sammy?"

"My little brother," I enlightened. "And somehow, I suspect that thing's next meal…"

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Dean hadn't left the motel more than ten minutes when I started to feel guilty. Was I taking my own problems out on him? Yes, what he'd done to Amy was wrong, so very wrong, but I know his reasons for doing it were sound enough. I'd helped Madison end it, after all, did that really make me any better?

My conscience told me I was the better man because I hadn't taken her life without her permission, but my mind knew the truth - even if it was addled right now with a whirlpool of satanic madness leftover from my time in the pit.

I rubbed a hand across my temple, feeling even now the pressure there.

I picked up my cell, intending to dial Dean's number, but on quick inspection I noticed the signal I'd had earlier had died just like the TV.

My eyes locked on the bottle of Jack Daniels Dean had brought in and I succumbed to his weakness. I poured a large shot and walked over to the window. Gently drawing back the dusty net curtain, I was surprised to see just how thick the fog had become.

Something nagged at the back of my mind. Would Dean be okay out in this? Then I realized he'd probably take a swing at me for even having the thought. Of course he'd be okay in fog, this was Dean we were talking about.

I turned to move away from the glass but my brow furrowed as I heard the loud toot of an air horn. I guessed me and Dean weren't the only latecomers to the motel, and my eyes returned to the window to take a peek at the newcomer.

The semi was all black. Even the long container type trailer it hauled was coloured like a raven. The headlights seemed to have an eerie red tinge to them that cut through the mist like lasers, but that must have been just a trick of the light.

As I watched, intrigued, the driver gunned the engine and it belched a rosy smoke into the night.

I saw "Norman" come to his tiny office window and look out, but his expression said if he was expecting the late arrival, it wasn't supposed to be a friendly visit. Good old "Norman" was shaking badly, and his eyes were wide as plates.

Instinctively, I put down my glass next to our little impromptu Christmas tree and grabbed the Glock I'd stowed under my pillow. I flicked off the safety, but didn't leave the room – not yet until I was sure what was going down.

When I looked back to the window again, only seconds could have passed, but the semi and "Norman" had both vanished.

My throat bobbed as I swallowed hard and tried to figure out what my next move should be. Something was going down here, something bad.

My senses were screaming at me from years of honing them, but my brain was lagging behind in making a decision.

_Heck, it's Christmas, this can't be going down, not here, not now_!

But then Dean and me have long ago learned that time, tide and demonic skanks wait for no man, and no holiday.

As I pondered the fact of luck and the Winchester name, the lights went out.

I pushed my back into the wall and held the Glock close to my chest with both hands. I was behind the door and ready for anyone, or anything that might try to enter.

I waited, chest heaving hard.

Where was Dean? Was he safe?

_You drove him out into the night Sam, are you proud of yourself now? _

I looked up to see Lucifer sneering at me. He never truly left me, I'd just grown accustomed to his presence. I likened it to a patient knowing they had a debilitating disease, but not letting it get them down.

_That trucker is gonna strip the flesh off old Norman and then he's gonna do the same to Dean. Are you going to stand there all night and let it happen? Or maybe you'd like to admit finally that none of this is real. It's all me, Sammy, all part of my game_…

I bit into the bottom of my own lip, drawing a thin line of blood. Blood was good, blood gave pain and pain faded Lucifer's image to nothing but a distant memory.

I heard, no felt something drip near my boot and looked down to see the dribble from my lip splash on the wooden floorboard.

And it wasn't the only thing down there.

Under the door, a thick ooze of pulsating fog was creeping into the motel room, searching, sensing, probing like it had a life of its own.

I spun around, pointing my Glock at it like an inexperienced idjit, as Bobby would say.

"Get a grip, Winchester." I swiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my sleeve and then grabbed the throw from Dean's bed.

I didn't know why, but I had to stop the fog from creeping in.

Sticking my gun in the small of my back behind my belt, I quickly used the throw to stuff the gap under the door, like padding an oozing wound.

Small amounts still entered, but for now I had stemmed the flow.

I heard the squeal of tyres from outside and then the slamming of what sounded like the Impala's creaky driver's door. I frowned when there was a second slam of metal and resumed my place behind the door.

Ten seconds later, Dean was pounding on the wood with what sounded like the butt of his Colt. "Sammy, you better be in one piece or I swear I'll tear you a new one!"

I opened the door and he fell in grumbling, to be followed a second later by a slim looking blonde with short-hair and a half empty bottle of bourbon.

"Sheesh Dean, I've been worried sick about you and you were out picking up _a girl_?"

I took a wary look out into the night, but the creeping, oozing fog from before seemed to have vanished, replaced by what looked like normal fog, albeit thicker than I'd have liked. I quickly shut the door and placed the throw back, just in case.

Dean was glowering at me when I turned back to face him. "I was _not_ picking up a girl," he said almost angrily. "I was saving one." He looked around, at last realizing the lights were out. "What happened here, you fry the electrics with the good old magic fingers?"

He smirked, knowing full well our room didn't have "magic fingers" anyway.

"Dean, something's going down. Tonight. Here. Now." I pointed to the window. "There was this truck outside. It was…I don't know, whacked out."

Dean scoffed, "Tell me about it, Einstein. I've had that thing breathing down my tailpipe. And let me tell you, the driver likes to fillet anyone he doesn't take a shine too – which from what I'm seeing and hearing is at least two people already tonight. Talk about _Duel _on steroids"

Dean paced a little in the darkness, rubbing a hand through his short spiky hair in contemplation. "There's something else, too, Sammy. I didn't notice it when we first got here, but there are references all over this joint that I should have recognized sooner."

"Like what?" I was peering under the curtain again as I spoke, but all I could make out was that the mire outside was thickening again until it might take a knife to break through it.

"Like this motel is named after a fishing boat in Carpenter's _The Fog. _Like the town is called St Anthony's Cove, sounds an awful lot like Carpenter's Antonio Bay, huh? Oh, and let's not forget there's an awful lot of actual _fog_ outside right now."

I looked at him and raised my brows. "We can't be talking trickster, not unless we actually have a real Loki on our hands."

The girl pulled a face at me and took another swig of whatever was in her bottle. "Whoa, and I thought_ I_ was the one imagining things. C'mon, guys, it's Christmas Eve, for crying out loud."

Dean stopped pacing and tossed down his gun on the bed. Given our situation, that surprised me, but then so did what he had to say next.

"You know what? She's right! It's Christmas, so what do we care that this friggin' town has gone ape? Why don't we just sit back and let whatever is gonna happen, happen?"

"Dean?" I asked incredulously, unsure even if I was getting his point.

"Dude, God has been giving us crap since the day were we both born. We always come through for him like obedient little puppies, and for what? The very next day he throws more crap at us! Well I'm telling you, I'm done. It's Christmas, and I'm gonna get smashed outta my face and let the jeepers creepers crowd outside go have a ball."

To prove his point he took a Coors and choked down a huge gulp.

"Dean, there are people _dying_!"

"You think I don't know that? Around us people are always dying or getting their asses sucked to hell - or worse." He took another swig of beer and then tossed the bottle at the far wall until it shattered into a myriad of pieces.

"Sam, this is supposed to be God's time of year, the birth of Christ, peace and goodwill to all, and yet here we are again, mopping up his mess and he can't even be bothered to show his saintly ass down here. I'm telling you, no wonder Cas went fruit loop with a boss like that. Think about it, what has he done, once, ever for the human race in the last hundred years except sit and watch up screw up? I bet he's up there in heaven right now getting rat-assed."

I opened my mouth to answer, but when I considered it, I wasn't really sure I had one that justified God's absence. We'd fought a war against Lucifer and his cohorts. We'd both died and we'd both been to hell. Mankind was burning himself out with only a few hunters and angels actually knowing what was going on, but still we were apparently alone in the battle.

And that was without even counting the new Leviathan threat.

"Jeez, even Samantha is lost for words." Dean sighed and looked at the ceiling as if something might appear there in the darkness. "If you're listening big "G" then I'd say its time to shag ass to this pathetic little planet and clean up house, because the Winchesters are tired of doing it for you…."

I waited.

Actually waited thinking that somewhere in the cosmos some being might be listening and finally feel enough guilt to come and explain himself, or well, herself, (just in case God happens to be a woman, heh)

If not that, then maybe I expected Dean to get smited or something. I mean, his outburst was more than a little disrespectful if there was a higher being watching.

I still waited.

The room was silent all but for Denny slugging down the last of her liquor.

The clock on the shelf ticked, and ticked, but no one came.

Dean nodded. "Well, surprise surprise that's another no show for the almighty!"

The clock suddenly began its hourly chime.

I think we all jumped at the suddenness of it. I glanced across and noted the hands on the timepiece said it was 11pm. Old "Norman" was obviously a bit tardy with the maintenance.

Out the corner of my eye I saw Dean look too, then glance at his wrist.

"Man, has anyone got the time?" He said it like he already knew we were in for a shock.

Denny and I looked at our watches simultaneously and both saw the same thing.

It _was_ 11pm.

Although it was impossible, time seemed to have jumped back about forty minutes or so. Or, we were having a group hallucination, which even I didn't buy.

Dean picked his Colt back up from the bed and his eyes narrowed, taking in a thin line of smog that was making its way through the throw I'd stuffed the door with.

As we all watched it in morbid fascination, a slow menacing knock came at the motel door. It wasn't like flesh on wood, but more like a metallic clang.

"I'm guessing that ain't no gorilla in the mist our there, Sam." Dean clenched his weapon and nodded to me to take a defensive pose in front of the girl.

I swallowed again. It's a habit of mine in stressful situations, then I nodded back. "What's supposed to happen next," I whispered. "In the movie I mean?"

Dean grinned wryly. "Guess you're wishing you watched all those gorefest flicks now huh?"

I rolled my eyes and Denny answered for him, her voice stronger than I'd have expected given our wild situation. "This is the part where the rotting corpse of a long dead sailor comes knocking at your door with a meat hook the size of Mount Rushmore and tears your guts out."

Dean's eyes twinkled. "Oh I'm starting to like this chick. But yeah, that about sums it up. Except I'm thinkin' we got ourselves a rabid trucker, not a sailor, but who gives a crap about the little print, right? Whacked out spook is still a whacked out spook in my book."

The knock came again, slow, laborious and well timed.

Dean's Colt vanished under his jacket and I did much the same with my Glock. Without thinking, I automatically reached under the throw on my own bed and drew out two sawed-off shotguns. I kept one and pitched the other to Dean who caught it effortlessly in one hand.

Now we were ready.

"Full frontal assault?" I asked.

Dean licked his lips. "Hell yeah, bring it on, little brother. Gank or be ganked!"

I inhaled, took two steps to the motel door…

And opened it.


	3. Chapter 3

**One Night Only Part Three**

Sammy opened up the door and took a step back ready to let off a blast of rock salt, but then stopped.

Just stopped and gawked.

I did much the same.

Only Denny was left with any sense of speech – at least until the shock subsided.

"Okay, so who the heck are you, and why are you knocking on our motel room door like you're the undead?" Denny actually sounded demanding. I was impressed.

"I'm here because I was _called_, and I err…well, thought it was time I did actually show myself."

Sam was still looking like an open-mouthed fish outta water, but I'd gathered myself enough to at least move.

I grabbed our old pal Chuck Shurley, hauled his ass over the threshold and then slammed the door behind him before any fog creatures decided to emerge and kick ass.

"Chuck! Are you _nuts_? What are you doing out here?"

The writing prophet didn't seem to be anywhere near as meek and mild as I'd remembered him, but he still looked a geek. "I came because I think I owe it to you. I've been a little…_lax_ in my duties of late."

Sam finally seemed to come up for air. "You're _still_ writing about us? I thought all that would have stopped after…"

I was already getting confused. "You've come out here just to tell us what comes next in one of your crazy-ass stories? Dude, you're right in the middle of one and seeing as it's stolen from a Hollywood movie, I'd watch it or you're likely to get fried for copyright."

Chuck sighed and took the only chair in the room. He flopped down on it wearily. "You don't understand. I was never a writer – not in the sense that you are thinking. It's true I can and do influence every mortal and sometimes immortal thing, but I was never _just_ a writer channelling an angel. I was more what you would call _the_ creator."

I considered pointing my shotgun at him, but resisted. "Dude, you're starting to scare me. You sound just like a friend of mine before he went all Britney on us."

Chuck was still naive, I'll give him that. "Your friend shaved off his hair?" He asked.

"No," I quickly corrected. "Crazy S.O.B. thought he was God."

Chuck smiled at that, which was kinda creepy. "Ah yes, _that_ friend. Castiel was very imprudent to take my place that way."

This time I did point the gun at Chuck, and from the corner of my eye I saw Sam do much the same. "So _you_ think you're God now too?"

"I don't _think,_ anything, although some days I wish it weren't so. Why do you think I spent so much time as a simple human? Why do you think I have refused so long to hear the calls of mankind as well as my own heavenly angels."

My eyes narrowed. "I can think of two reasons. Either because you ain't God, which is the one I'm swinging towards, or you _are_ God, and you're a heartless, selfish bastard."

I heard Sam almost choke, so I guess he was thinking there was a slim chance old Chuck was telling the truth. "_Dean,"_ he hissed through clenched teeth.

I ignored him. "So, Chuck, if you're really the big "G" and you heard me demanding your presence, exactly what are you gonna do about it now you're here?" I didn't expect him to do anything – he was a dork, not an omnipotent being, right?

I paced a little around the chair he'd sat on. "How about for starters you clean up this mess of a world you've created? How about an end to the demonic skanks running rampant? How about Rufus back, or Jo, or how about Cas, huh? Or maybe even dad? And if you really are God, how about some answers to why this town seems to have gone rabid on Christmas Eve just like in Carpenter's _The Fog_? I could go on all night here…"

Denny's somewhat quiet voice emerged from the shadows where I can only assume she'd concealed herself. "Sheesh you don't ask for much."

I held up a finger. "Actually, sweetheart, I have one more request." I leaned over until I was looking Chuck right in the eye, but he didn't flinch like I expected. It really was as if this wasn't the same meek little man we'd encountered before.

_Possessed, maybe? _

I asked my question, at any rate. "If you really _are_ God, prove it, Chuckles." I folded my arms and waited. "Show me some of that power, 'cause from where I'm standing I just see a lonely excuse for a man who likes to pretend he's more than he is by writing a few pages of fan fiction."

"Dean really, should you..?" Was Sam actually considering Chuck might be telling the truth?

"Yeah, I should," I snapped back.

Chuck stood from the chair, and to his credit he was pretty calm. "I didn't bring you here tonight to argue my identity. I didn't manipulate time to give you another hour, just so you could waste it on me."

"So, no proof, huh?" I scoffed. "That's just what I thought. So just outta interest, if you brought us here, which I doubt, why the whole "Fog" thing? You been taking lessons from Gabriel before he got his ass ganked? 'Cause I'm telling you, this isn't funny. Practical jokes that end in death are never funny."

"Actually," Chuck offered, his beard twitching. "It was me who taught Gabriel the art of manipulation. But that's for anther time, another place. What you see here tonight is no illusion. Neither is it the black arts reproducing a movie. It's simply… coincidence."

"You expect us to believe that?" Sam was started to get brave.

"Even filmmakers get their ideas from somewhere, Sam." Chuck turned to my brother, showing a softer side. A softer tone. He knows how to play people, I'll give him that. "John Carpenter came to nearby Goleta back in the seventies. He heard about a local legend – a story of a ship that was wrecked on purpose. Then he came through St Anthony's Cove and picked up tales of yet another legend. He melded the two together, names, places, added a little Hollywood spice and…"

Chuck clicked his fingers and instantly his appearance changed. Not too much, but gone were the everyday clothes, replaced by a pure black designer suit, and his beard, heck that was longer and whiter.

"Oh, so God wears made-to-measure Valentino's now?"

He brushed a fleck of dirt from his sleeve. "There's nothing wrong with keeping up appearances."

The clothes change and beard growth was a neat trick, but it didn't prove jack squat to me. Any lesser supernatural being could pull that one off. "So the whole _Fog_ thing is what? A friggin' red herring?" I was getting annoyed now. I could feel my face reddening and my blood pressure rising.

"No," Chuck sounded different now, more, I don't know even how to describe it.

"What is happening here is part of a very real legend. If you do not solve the riddle and end this tonight, then the townspeople will suffer forever. You have until midnight to end their misery and your own."

Sam moved to stand next to me. "Or _what?_ Dean has a point, we've jumped through hoops all our lives to try and do what's right, and what does it ever get us? How do we _really_ know who and what you are?"

Denny hiccupped from her corner. "Gotta say, he looks like God to me, guys, suit or no suit."

Pseudo God smiled at that, and for a second I was reminded of the old Chuck. The scared Chuck. Had that always been a façade? "Like I said, if you're God, prove it, then me and Sammy might consider fixing this riddle crap. Hell, if you're God, why don't you fix it yourself?"

"Because I created man to be independent, not a race of beings I want to come running to me every time they have a problem – and yet, that is what became of man. That's why I decided to wash my hands of him for a time. Man must fight his own battles."

"And the angels too?"

"You saw what happened to Castiel. The angels were an ever weaker creature than humans. They were flawed. That was my fault, I see that now, but they're damaged goods."

"Whoa," I held up a hand. "You got a really bad opinion of everybody but yourself don't you? Have you been smoking Moby Dick's bong or what? You ever wonder why Cas did what he did? Dude, he had the mind of a child half the time, and when you leave kids home alone, you gotta expect a few toys thrown outta the playpen when you get back."

Chuck, or God, or whoever didn't seem impressed. "Castiel broke my commandments. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not take the name of the lord thy god in vain." He looked quite smug. "Shall I go on?"

I shrugged. "Hey, you can babble all night, but it doesn't change that you let the rugrats play in the big league and then didn't like the hissy fit that followed when they messed up."

"Castiel deserved to be punished."

"Okay, so Cas was a bad puppy, even if he felt he had no choices left, I get that, but what about the rest of us? What did we ever do to deserve the crap you brought down? Heck, are still bringing down," I was quite forceful considering he really was giving me the creeps now.

"Man must learn to look after himself. That learning curve began many moons ago with my son's death, and still it continues. _Will_ continue with you here tonight. There is a lesson to be learned, and a wrong to be righted, and all it must all happen before the clock strikes the first hour of my son's official birthday."

Chuck clicked his fingers and was gone, just like that chick on _I Dream of Genie_. Oh wait, I think she scrunched her nose instead, but you get the picture.

I sucked in a long breath, grabbed the bottle I'd left earlier, took off the top and slugged down a sizable portion of it. "Man, can somebody tell me what just happened, because I feel like I got slugged by a bear. A big-assed bear."

"You think maybe Chuck is possessed or something?" Sam joined me, took the bottle from my hand and took a gulp himself. I wasn't expecting that.

I thought about the whole possession thing. "Not really," I answered honestly. "But I sure as hell don't think he's God, either."

"After what we've been through, after all we've seen, I'm not sure _what_ I believe any more. I mean, _maybe_…"

I cut him off with a growl. "Don't even go there, Sam. The guy was a prophet, a storyteller, not _the Almighty!"_

Sam nodded, but I have to say he didn't seem convinced. "Okay, so say you're right, where does that leave us tonight?"

Denny appeared from the shadows again and this time took the bottle. It was almost empty, and she finished it off. I can't say as I blame her considering what we were putting her through. "I'd say it leaves us with an hour to solve a puzzle or the Grinch we just met might spoil Christmas."

"She has a point," Sam agreed. "Do we really have a choice? We have to find out one way or another what's happening here or we're likely to end up as another statistic."

"Or we could shag ass in the Impala and forget this sorry little town ever existed."

I don't think I really meant it, but at that moment I was so angry that we were being manipulated again, I would have done anything just to_ not_ play the game we were being railroaded into.

"Leave heaven knows how many people to their fates?" There was Sammy with his conscience again. Any second now my mind was screaming he was gonna mention Amy and how I hadn't just walked away from her when I could have.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Chuck was God and this was part of my punishment.

I pushed the guilty thought aside, grabbed my shotgun and started packing my things. Either way, we had to leave, and fast. "What say we just get in the car and figure out what comes next later, huh?"

Sam looked dubious but he followed my lead, which was surprising in itself. We hadn't unpacked much, so we were both ready within about two minutes.

"All clear," I asked as Sam checked the window.

"Still plenty of fog," he answered, peeling the curtain back. "But I don't see any angry truckers or God wannabes."

I nodded. "Sounds good to me." I slung my holdall over my shoulder, grabbed Denny's arm and opened the door, keeping the sawed-off level with just my right hand.

Outside was colder than I'd remembered it and the mist still swirled and flowed just a little too lithely for my liking. I almost dragged the girl over to the Chevy and Sam brought up the rear, his own shotgun pointed back towards the motel.

"You think all this could be a trap by the Leviathan?" He asked out of the blue.

That, of course, was the one thing I hadn't considered. Leviathans could mimic whatever they wanted. Hell, they'd Xeroxed me and Sammy, why not Chuck?

If it was them, this was one hell of a mind game, I'd give them that.

"Maybe," I answered without committing myself. "But once they had us in the motel, why not just chow down on us and be done with it?

Sam reached the Impala and opened a rear door for Denny. She slid in without complaint.

Then he grabbed the front passenger handle and stopped dead. Well, not dead, maybe that's a bad way of phrasing it given our situation, but he stopped at any rate.

"Dean, I don't think we were ever the targets here." He nodded over to the motel office and we both saw the pattern of fresh blood spattered on the glass of the window there. "That's the last place I saw "Norman,"" he offered, his throat bobbing.

I nodded back to him and silently we approached the building.

Fog ebbed around us, but thankfully didn't turn into anything more malevolent.

I reached the doorway first and edged my way inside keeping the barrel of my shotgun at mid-height ready to take out any unwanted guests.

Inside, the mist hung low over the floor, but not low enough to hide the remains of an eviscerated corpse. I kneeled, examining what was left of our little manager.

Somehow, even though I try not to take things personally, I felt sorry for the little guy.

He might have been creepy, but "Norman" hadn't deserved to have his head almost torn from his shoulders by what looked to be some kind of claw damage.

His dead eyes bulged in their sockets and his ashen face was a masque of terror. What had those eyes seen in those last moments?

"Dean?"

I looked up to see Sam staring outside.

"Dean, we should go. There's nothing we can do here."

"Yeah…" I didn't know what else to say. Our supernatural killer obviously had an agenda, a hit list, so to speak, and fog or no fog, it didn't appear to be anything to do with a sunken ship full of lepers like in Carpenter's movie.

At least, it didn't look that way yet.

Sam and I jogged back to the Impala and quickly climbed onto the front seat. I don't think we'd considered what was best to tell Denny, but we didn't have to.

"Another dead person?" She sighed.

Sam twisted around to face her as I gunned the ignition. "I'm afraid so, but it does look like specific people are being targeted and…"

"And seeing as I've survived twice now there's a chance I might not be on this crazy person's to do list?"

"Something like that," Sam sniffed. I think he was shocked at how well the girl was taking everything.

I pulled out of the motel lot and then hit the brakes, looking left and right in the fog bank, but not knowing which way to head. "Okay, folks, now what?"

"If Chuck was telling the truth, then we have less than an hour to stop a killer entity or else," Sam pondered. "We know the killer has specific victims in mind, but the question is, how do we know _who_ and _where_?"

"Get a phone book and flip a coin?" I snarked – I get kinda grouchy when I can't kick butt, what can I say?

Denny leaned forward. "Your God friend said John Carpenter used facts about this town in his movie. Maybe that was a clue? I mean, it has to be relevant somehow, right or he wouldn't have said it?"

"Lady, he could have just been yanking our chains. We don't even know who or what that freak back there was for sure."

Sam shook his head. "No wait, Dean, she's right. What happened in the movie next? How did they find out what was causing the fog?"

I rubbed at the stubble on my chin. Could it be that easy? "Everyone congregated at the church." I explained. "There was a priest there with an old journal that told the story of a hundred year old murder – obviously, the spirits in the fog were back for revenge, yadda yadda."

"So maybe the priest in this town knows some old story or tale that might help us?" Sam had that excited pup look he gets – the one were I wanna throw him some kibble or something. "Dean, it _has_ to be worth a shot!"

I turned my head and looked pointedly at Denny. "So," I asked. "Does this place even have a church? And please, _please_ tell me the padre isn't called Malone and looks like Hal Holbrook?"

Denny frowned. "Who the hell is Hal Holbrook?" When I didn't reply she pulled a stick of gum from her pocket, shot it in her mouth and chewed for thought for a moment. "Church is out on South Lane," she finally clarified. "Preacher goes by the name of Vickers."

"And South Lane is?" I held up a hand to the fog. "Left or right, sister, 'cause I don't do mind reading and I don't have satellite navigation built in my ass!"

She looked almost apologetic. "Oh sorry, it's left. Follow the road until you meet the small bridge and then left again."

I slipped the Impala into drive and hit the gas, but I wasn't happy about it.

The night had started out making very little sense and had soon plummeted into complete chaos. Fog, phantom semis, ganked townsfolk, a would be God that could even be a Leviathan…my head was spinning and I'd hardly touched the Jack Daniels.

_Yet. _

Somehow, though, I had a feeling if the Padre Vickers had a bottle I'd be helping him drink it.

Supposing, of course, he wasn't already deader than a dodo – which given what happened in _The Fog _was a distinct possibility.

_What are you gonna do then, Chuck?_ I asked in my mind. _Fry me and Sammy for failing your Christmas challenge?_

Given Winchester luck, that was a distinct possibility.


	4. Chapter 4

**One Night Only Part Four**

_Author's note: Thank you everyone who has taken the time to leave me a review. Each and every one is appreciated!_

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As we drove out to the church, Dean was unusually quiet, and I could guess why. Chuck appearing had been a curve ball my brother – heck, _none_ of us had expected – but the thing was, Dean wasn't buying Chuck's story.

At least, not on the surface.

Deeper down, I knew my brother had been thrown into a pit of emotions that were eating at him inside. Up until Cas's appearance, Dean had been a none-believer where God was concerned, while I've always been more open to the idea that maybe a higher being might just be out there.

After Cas, though, well, even Dean had to admit that who the hell knows what is floating around in the universal soup.

But Chuck, of all people?

I'll confess, it wasn't likely that he really was God, but I couldn't push the "what if" out of my mind altogether.

All in all, so far this had been the weirdest night of my life, and I knew Dean was feeling the same.

I glanced into the rearview and saw Denny rubbing at her arms on the backseat. What was her part in all of this? Was she really an innocent bystander? Were we dragging her to her death just by travelling with us?

_Of course you are, Sammy boy!_

I quickly closed my eyes as Lucifer appeared next to the girl, smirking.

_You can't hide from me just my closing those peepers, Sam, I'm in your head. I'm everywhere. _

I felt myself biting into my lip again, but this time the pain didn't instantly make him vanish. When I opened my eyes, he was still sitting next to Denny, motioning across her neck with his hand to suggest her throat was going to be sliced.

_One way or another, Sam, you're all dead meat tonight. This is my gig, not God's. My gig, inside your head. I can kill whoever I choose, and you can't stop me. Just wait until we get to the church…_

"Sam?"

I blinked and shook myself, realizing it was Dean's voice now, not Lucifer's. I looked over to him, and I could see he knew I'd been in another zone for a moment.

He let it slide.

"Sam, I think we found our church."

My mind had been so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed the fog had thinned considerably and that we were about to pull up outside a somewhat modern building made of wood.

It wasn't what I'd expected at all. Somehow, my mind had pictured an ancient stone structure with a bell tower. Something creepy and mysterious to match the swirling mist we'd been enveloped by all evening.

Dean obviously felt the same. "Well this wasn't what I was expecting…" he climbed out and I followed, opening the rear door for Denny to join us.

As we walked up the small gravel path to the side entrance, I kept up my guard, turning every few seconds to make sure the fog wasn't coalescing behind our group and making ready for an attack.

Nothing happened, though, and I couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't the holy ground holding the grey miasma at bay.

But then again, maybe that really was too much to ask for, even on Christmas Eve.

While I brought up the rear, Dean knocked on the thin wooden door, his face a mask of frustration. Dean has always hated puzzles, especially deadly ones, and I knew tonight was driving him nuts.

He knocked again, and just as his hand came away from the door it creaked open like in those old black and white Hollywood movies. It seemed so stereotypical of the rest of the night I almost laughed.

The serene look on the priest's face who'd answered stopped me.

He was an average build with a neatly trimmed beard and soft blue eyes. I guessed he was about forty, and it looked like he was dressed for midnight mass.

"Yes, can I help you?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Actually, I think maybe it's us who can help you. First, though, we need to talk."

The priest appeared confused. "I'm sorry, but I have mass to prepare for, perhaps you'd like to come back later?"

Dean tried again. "Look Padre, no offence, but I don't think you're going to have much of a congregation tonight, not with what's going on with the fog and all?" He jerked a thumb back towards the mist behind us.

"There's a fog?" The priest looked mystified. It was pretty much at that point that I noticed he wasn't really looking at Dean – at any of us when he spoke.

I pushed forwards to take Dean's place. "Father Vickers, there's a fog tonight, a thick one, there have been some incidents in town. Under the circumstances, I don't think midnight mass might be appropriate."

I took the blind priest's arm and turned him around to guide him back inside.

"Incidents?" He asked. "_Fog?_ Yes, I see…" He didn't struggle, he didn't even ask my name or why I had bothered to come out to the church.

Behind me, Dean and Denny followed us into Father Vickers' living quarters.

Once inside, the priest seemed to gather himself again – especially when a large Golden Retriever appeared and placed itself dutifully by his side. He patted its head appreciatively and then took a seat in a bedraggled armchair by a small open fire.

"So," he began. "Just who are you three, and why have you bothered to visit a blind priest on Christmas Eve when the rest of his flock have apparently deserted him?"

He was astute, I'll give him that. Denny hadn't spoken, but he'd sensed her presence.

Dean coughed again. "This is kinda hard to explain, but the fog, it's linked to some deaths tonight, and you might be able to help us understand why."

"When you said fog, I thought you meant there had been an accident or maybe the road was closed, poor visibility and all that."

"Not exactly," I intervened. "Father, this is going to sound crazy, but something is happening in St Anthony's Cove tonight. People are dying because of something that's linked to the town's past."

"What my brother is so eloquently trying to say is that your town has one mother of a skeleton in its closet, and tonight is apparently payback time for those involved." Dean wasn't pulling any punches. "We're here to try and stop any more deaths, and to do that, we need to know if you have an old journals or diaries, anything that might date back to the town's early history."

Vickers looked confused. "_Me?_ I've only been here five years. I don't have anything of value." He was shaking a little, and I suppose he may have even thought we were there to rob him.

"You haven't found any books or papers in any of the church walls?" I think Dean was looking for links back to Carpenter's movie again, but the priest just shook his head.

"No, like me, the church isn't very old. It wasn't built until '82. There was an old stone structure here before that, but it was deemed unsafe and torn down in the summer of '79."

Dean grimaced. "Crap!" he looked at the priest. "Sorry…"

"Okay, so no paperwork, no diaries relating to the Cove's past, but do you know any stories or legends about the town?" I tried to talk softly, to relax Vickers as much as possible, considering he was all but being interrogated by strangers.

He leaned forwards and the dog trotted around and licked his hands as he reached them out to warm them on the fire. He was still shaking, but I don't think it was from how cold it was outside.

We were scaring him, and I hated that.

Vickers eventually licked his lips and lifted his head. "Well, there is the story about the old cannery, but I really don't see how that would relate to anyone's death."

"Try us," Dean grumbled. "We're trying to save lives here, and we're desperate."

The priest nodded, apparently beginning to believe we really were the good guys. "It was way back in April of 1906. The town was thriving back then, fishing, the cannery, life was good. There were plenty of jobs for all and no one went hungry. At least, that's the way it was until the great quake. The Cove is too far away from San Francisco for there to have been much damage, but one of the minor aftershocks almost took out the entire community."

He paused for effect, and I could tell that being a priest, he was used to being a good story teller up there on the pulpit. "What happened?" I prompted obediently.

"Well," Vickers sighed. "The story goes that a young boy who worked at the cannery left a lantern a little too close to a table ledge. When the aftershock hit, the lantern toppled and the cannery was burned to the ground. Many jobs were lost, and there wasn't enough cash to rebuild the place because the insurance wouldn't pay out. It was basically the start of a downward spiral for the town."

Dean looked at me and shook his head. "I'm not sure this is the kinda story that would lead to a supernatural being running rampant through town killing the local folk." He looked at Vickers. "We were thinking more of a town secret, black magic rituals in the woods, murder, mayhem, that kinda thing…"

My brother isn't exactly good with words, and I expected Vickers to balk at even the suggestion his congregation's ancestors might have been up to no good.

But he didn't scowl or scoff, and he didn't question what Dean had said about supernatural killings, either.

It was my turn to be surprised.

Vickers swallowed and rubbed his hands together harder, trying to evoke more warmth. "Actually," he explained. "There is more to the cannery story. If you can even begin to believe it."

"Just give it a try," I prompted. "We've seen a lot in our time."

The priest smiled strangely as if he knew that already and then cleared his throat. "Well, like I said, the town was getting in a mess. Months went by, Christmas was upon them all and they were destitute – desperate even. The tale goes that around this time a man came to town with a solution. He offered Anthony's Cove the cannery back, but there was a price."

"What could a town with no money offer up as collateral?" Denny asked, obviously intrigued by the story.

Vickers looked apologetic. "This is were it all gets rather confused. _Silly_ even. But it's told that some of the senior townsfolk were asked to put up their families souls as security. Anyway, there was a meeting out of town on the old cliff road and whatever happened, they say come Christmas morning there was a cannery out there right where the old one had stood."

The priest shrugged and reached out for an old iron poker. He felt for it, letting his fingers search it out. Then he poked the fire even though he couldn't see its glow. "I don't know how the cannery really got rebuilt, but, well you asked for a supernatural story…"

Dean looked at me, then back to Vickers. "Is there a crossroads out on the old cliff road?"

"I really don't know," Vickers apologized. "Like I say, I've only been here a few short years."

"Yes, there's a crossroads," Denny answered instead. "Or at least, there used to be. That part of the cliffs collapsed into the sea after a storm in about '95 I think…." It was her turn to look confused. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Dean and me both ignored her. Finally we were getting somewhere.

"Father, do you know anything about the stranger that came to town. Was he English, well-dressed, losing his hair?"

Vickers opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly the dog at his feet jerked up, its eyes setting the corner of the room.

It began to growl uncontrollably, teeth baring in an unusual show of temper.

A figure emerged from the shadows and with one click of his fingers the dog whimpered and then sat back down in front of the fire. "Losing my hair?" He scoffed almost sounding hurt. "As if…"

"Crowley!" Dean and I offered up in unison.

The demon nodded as if saying his name was some kind of mark of respect – which it most definitely was not. Then he smiled as I presume he read my mind.

"Well, we've had God tonight, now The King of Hell himself," Dean said sarcastically. "What next, the ghost of Christmas past?"

"Well my money's on Santa Claus," Denny broke the awkward silence with a little humour of her own, then quickly hid back in the shadows as everyone scowled at her.

Vickers turned to Crowley, sensing his presence, but he didn't ask who the newcomer was. Maybe he felt something was off kilter.

I know I did – and _I knew_ what was going on – kinda.

"Hello again, lads." Crowley stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and moved so that he was in the center of the room, and had our full attention. "Nice to see you all celebrating the festive season with a little blood and guts."

"One of your goons out in the fog collecting souls," Dean grunted. "Not exactly my idea of rocking around the Christmas tree."

Crowley wagged a finger. "Now now, Dean, I made a deal here fair and square and I'm merely using an agent to collect what I'm owed. You of all people should know how the system works."

"But these people didn't sell their souls," I argued. "Their ancestors made the deal, not them."

Crowley walked around to the fire and taking the iron from Vickers, prodded the logs, making the flames lick higher. He watched them appreciatively while he answered. "Ah Sam, haven't you ever heard of a _long term_ contract? Surely you didn't think all my deals were for a mere ten years or so? This kind of agreement earns me so much more _interest._ Think about it. I get to collect as many relatives I like up until midnight every Christmas Eve. And given that my deal with Castiel fell through, so to speak, I'm a little short on souls of late."

Dean almost choked. "_Every_ Christmas Eve? Crap, Crowley, just what kind of deal did you make?"

The demon smiled. "A good one, I'd say. You see, St Anthony's Cove got a hundred year agreement. They get one hundred years of freedom, but from 2006 I get first dibs on as many souls as I like for one day, every year thereafter on the date of the original contract. Of course, the townsfolk back then thought I was bloody barking, but then, they didn't have to pay up now, did they?"

Dean was rubbing his temple in disbelief, and I can't say as I was far behind.

"You're taking the souls of people who don't even know _why_? People who had nothing to do with all this?"

"Poor sods have no clue," Crowley agreed. "But that's not my problem now is it, lads?"

"So why are you here, now, talking to us even?" I demanded.

Crowley brushed some ash from his pristine black suit that had floated up from the fire. "Let's just say I'm finding this rather…_amusing._ Oh and the best is yet to come."

Vickers finally found his voice, albeit rather shaky. "I don't think you belong in a house of God." He was looking at our demon friend.

"Quite right," Crowley admitted. "And I'll be off soon, but not before I give my friends here a little helping hand." The demon stared at me and Dean. "You're here to stop my man doing his job, right?"

"Right," We both said together.

"Well, let me tell you, you're dealing with no ordinary demon. This chap is…_special_ to say the least. In fact, I'm willing to wager once you've caught up with him, you just won't be able to send his arse back to me in hell no matter how much rock salt and mojo you take with you."

"Wager huh?"

I could see from Dean's expression he was mulling some plan over. Given his track record with crossroads demons, that scared me. I waited to hear him out, though, before deciding whether to kick his suggestion into the great beyond.

"How about we make _you_ a wager?" Dean stepped so close to Crowley I thought he was going to try and put down the King of Hell right then and there.

Thankfully, he didn't as we were totally outgunned and unprepared for such a fight.

"How about, if we gank your boy despite him being Rambo skank, you call the contract on St Anthony's null and void and leave these folks alone?"

Crowley paced a little as if thinking about it, but I knew he was going to bite. If there was one thing this freak liked it was a good bet. Eventually, he paused. "I like those odds," he smiled. "But I still think they're stacked in my favour, and I'm anything but unfair so…"

"So you're gonna shag ass and take your boy with you, let these folks alone?" Dean shook his head. "C'mon, Crowley, what are you playing at."

The demon laughed then. "Oh I never play, Dean. But here's the deal, my boy is so unique, you can't send him back with any old Rituale Romanum. You need something special."

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a very old piece of parchment. The edges were curled and torn and the pigment was discoloured, but the ink was still legible – barely.

He handed it to me and I accepted it, looking closely at the scrawl spread across it. "What makes you so sure we'll lose that you'd give us this?" I asked, not really expecting the truth for an answer.

Crowley laughed. "I've told you, my man is not your average demon. You boys will find it a little _difficult_ to kill him."

"And if we do lose?" I dared to ask.

"Then I get to stick one to God on the eve of his son's birthday. How cool is that?"

Dean wasn't convinced. "You're going to all this trouble just to get one over on the big "G"? Where do we figure in this picture?"

Crowley began walking around us, like he was sizing us up – although he'd surely done that many moons ago. "Lose, and the town's souls are mine for all eternity. And that means anyone in the town at the time of our second deal."

I looked to my brother. "I think he's trying to tell us the truck will be coming for us too if we fail."

Dean's eyes twinkled and I knew he'd taken the demon's bait. "Yeah, well, we're not gonna lose, Sammy." He eyed Crowley. "What's with the black semi and the fog, anyways?"

Crowley shrugged, his own eyes now sparkling. "Let's call it productive theatrics. Christmas is normally such a schmaltzy time of year. All snow, laughter and candy canes. I like my take on it much better." He pointedly looked at Dean. "So is it a deal?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his stubble. "Just as long as you don't expect us to kiss your ugly mug."

I tried to stop him. I mean, what if we failed? This wasn't just our souls we were playing with. "Dean _wait_…"

But it was no use. As I watched, Crowley offered a hand instead of his usual smooch and my brother accepted it.

As Crowley broke away from the handshake, he looked at the very expensive Rolex on his wrist. "Better hurry, lads, you have twenty minutes before midnight. Twenty minutes to send my little helper on his way or…"

"We get the picture." I snapped.

But before the words had left my mouth I realized the snappy-dressed demon had already vanished.

I whirled around to my brother. "Just what did you think you were doing?"

"Saving this town, just like our friend Chuck asked us to?" He snapped back. "Or are you forgetting God is as big a part of this as Crowley?"

He was right, of course, but it still didn't _feel right._

"Could somebody tell me what the hell just happened?" Denny had reappeared and had positioned herself next to the priest.

"Yes," Vickers agreed. "I'd like to know too. I had the most horrid sensation when that man was in my home."

It was my turn to look at my watch. "We don't have time to explain. We have to find the trucker that's out there and we don't have long to do it."

Denny suddenly looked horrified. "You _want_ to find the idiot who killed old Hank? Are you _nuts_?" She put a hand on her hip and stared Dean out. "And you're _so_ not FBI!"

Dean ignored her. "We have to figure out who might be next on the hit list. Long time families of the Cove going all the way back to 1906 should lead us to our skank."

Denny crossed her arms and her horrified expression changed to out and out scared. "No you don't," she said shakily. "You don't need to find anyone, 'cause he's found you."

She pointed to a small side window in the church that had mostly misted up with the heat from the open fire. But through the condensation, I could clearly see the source of her terror.

A black semi was parked out in the lane that led to the church. Red smoke belched from its stacks and its lights glowed a chilling ruby. If Crowley's "productive theatrics" were meant to instil fear, they were working, even on me.

"It's here, out front," I told Dean. "And the fog is back with it too."

"So either Crowley is cheating, or one of us has ancestors in this town that helped make the original deal."

Dean joined me at the window to check out the rig.

"My folks are Canadian," Denny offered up as me and Dean watched for the semi's driver. "No way am I from these parts."

"Well we sure as hell aren't," Dean added. "Kansas born and bred. "How about you, Padre? Could your parents or grandparents be from these parts?"

Vickers bottom lip began to quiver and his whole body began to shake. "I…I don't know. I was adopted…"

Dean nodded knowingly. "I guess that makes you our number one victim until we find out otherwise." He glanced at me. "Okay, Sam, any ideas? Stand and fight this thing outright, or do we try and get the padre to safety first?"

I shook my head. "I haven't even read all that ritual yet, let alone memorized it. I don't think we're ready to fight." I looked how close the rig was to the Impala. "Think we can get out to the car and out of here before he turns us and your baby into ground beef?"

Dean checked the shells in his shotgun. "I'm sure as hell willing to try college boy, but we only got fifteen minutes left to gank that freak's ass, so you better be ready with that ritual once we get Vickers clear."

I nodded, checking my own weapon even though I knew I had a full load. "Mad dash for the Impala on three?"

"Got it," Dean affirmed then turned to Denny and Vickers. "All you folks gotta do is follow me and Sammy out to the car, and we'll do the rest." He took Vickers hand and pressed it to his jacket. "You're with me, Padre. Just keep a hold and you'll do fine."

Vickers looked unhappy. "What about Phoebe? I can't leave her!"

It took a second to register, even or me. "Your dog will be safe here," I cajoled. "_You _won't. Trust us on this."

He looked more than uncertain, but he held tight to the back of Dean's jacket anyway, so some of what had happened must have seeped into his mind.

Denny looked at me and smiled wanly. "Guess that means I'm with you big boy?"

I nodded, feeling awkward. "Just make a run for the car with the others," I explained. "I'll cover you all."

_Cover. _

Just what could I really do to cover them with a powerful demon and a pack of hellhounds out there in the mist?

I had to try though.

As Dean opened the wooden church door, he gave me one last sarcastic salute with his hand and then dived out into the night with Vickers in tow. Denny followed, and as they ran across a small pebbled area to the car, I let off a couple of blasts of my shotgun into the fog for good measure.

I paused, taking stock, and it was then that I saw the driver.

At a glance, he looked like any trucker might, but then the bandana pulled over his features somehow made him seem more ominous.

More _deadly._

I aimed at him, knowing I was firing at a supernatural creature, not a human.

I pulled my trigger without remorse, and saw the trucker's blue eyes flash as he spotted me.

Was that recognition or something else I saw in his penetrating stare?

Whatever it was, I was transfixed by it, and I admit I froze, not from fear, but from something I couldn't even explain.

It must have only been seconds, but the next thing I heard was Dean's voice.

And he was angry – with me.

"Sammy, dammit, will you fire at that thing! Jeez!"

I heard the blast from my brother's weapon, and saw the rock salt dissipate helplessly as it hit an invisible and apparently impenetrable wall in front of the semi driver.

The trucker turned then, not towards us, but to his rig. He didn't run, he didn't even hurry, but took a slow saunter up to the cab steps.

I heard growling, and not like anything an earthly animal was capable of. It was deeper than deep, and most definitely unholy.

My head bobbed wildly left and right searching for the hellhounds in the mist, but I knew they were undetectable unless they _wanted_ to be seen.

From the periphery of my vision I saw Dean pushing Vickers roughly onto the backseat of the Impala and I knew I need to give them more time.

Somehow, I dared to run _towards_ the semi driver. "Hey, you, come over here and fight like a man." It seemed a stupid thing to say to a demon, but I didn't know how else to draw the thing's attention.

He didn't turn, he didn't even acknowledge he'd heard me.

At least not physically.

But in my mind I heard a voice whisper_. But I'm not human, Sam, am I? You should know that. _

I shuddered, realizing the thing had gotten into my head as easily as one of my own thoughts as easily as Lucifer even. The idea made me angry, and I stopped moving, aimed and fired.

It was a waste of two shells, but it felt good.

Behind me, I heard a scream and I whirled about to see Denny go down despite Dean's best efforts to reach her.

She screamed again, this time as if she was in agony, but all I could see was an arm thrashing just above the fog for a moment as something dragged her below the thickening mist.

Dean had stopped running towards her and was trying to aim at her assailant, but in truth, there was nothing to aim at.

Denny's third and final cry was cut short into a bubbling gurgle and I think Dean and I both knew that something had just tore her throat out, even though we couldn't see it.

I wanted to rip the creature in two with my bare hands, followed closely by Crowley for creating this mess, but I was the rational Winchester. I knew that couldn't happen.

The best course of action now was a tactical retreat before we too ended up as hellhound fodder or ground beef from being hit by the semi.

"Dean! We have to leave her! She's dead!"

I don't know why I said it. I don't know why I even tried stopping him.

Because Dean was pissed, and hellhounds in the fog or not, he was going to go headlong into it trying to save a girl we both knew was already gone…


	5. Chapter 5

**One Night Only Part Five**

The moment the girl vanished under the fog, I knew she was gone.

Gone, and by my hand as surely as I'd killed Amy Pond.

Sometimes, you don't have to stick the knife in and do the twisting to be the one to blame.

I'd brought Denny out here and now _I'd_ killed her.

Still, I ran to the spot where I'd last seen her writhing, some part of my dumb ass mind thinking there was still hope.

I let off two shots of my weapon into the night as I dived forwards, not really caring if they hit anything or not. I was angry, not just at myself, but at God, Chuck, whoever the hell he was for letting this happen.

"Denny!" My words and breath were wasted.

I leaned low, feeling under the mist for her body, blood, anything, but all I felt was wet grass and pebbles.

Behind me, I heard the thudding of feet and whirled around, trigger finger itching to gank something.

It was Sam.

"Dean, she's gone. We have to get out of here before our friend decides to fire up that rig and finish us."

"I'm not leaving her, dammit! I'm sick of leaving people behind!" As the bark left my lips, I knew deep down that I had no choice. There was nothing, no one left to save.

"Dean! We can't help Denny, but we can still save Vickers. C'mon man, we're running out of time!" Sam looked at me with that frustrated, constipated look of his and it brought me partially to my senses.

Then, behind us, the semi fired up again, soot puffing effortlessly from its twin stacks.

"Guess it's time to shag ass," I admitted, but all the while my mind was screaming that I hadn't done enough. I hadn't searched enough.

I took one last look over my shoulder at the fog hovering over the ground where I'd last seen Denny. And I promised myself that when everything was over, I'd come back and look for what was left of her. Maybe I could at least give her a decent burial. Hell knows, after one of Crowley's mutts has chowed on you, there isn't a whole lot left to bury, trust me, I've felt the flesh tearing off my bones.

I know.

The rig revved again and I looked up as I reached the Impala, expecting it to be too late.

The demon driver was going to ram his semi up our asses and there wasn't squat we could do about it.

I gaped as I saw what was really happening.

The truck, complete with trailer full of souls was_ reversing_ down the lane at full pelt.

When something good and unexpected happens, I don't question it. I jumped behind the Chevy's wheel and turned the ignition as Sam joined me.

"I don't get it." Sam frowned as he watched the rig blur into the night fog. "He had us, he had us all in the palm of his hand to just crush, and he's _leaving_?"

"He might be leaving," I grumbled, hitting the gas. "But he sure as hell ain't getting away. We've got twelve minutes to ventilate his thick demonic skull or else, Sammy, so get reading that ritual _and fast_."

The car slewed and skidded as I took a corner too quickly, but I didn't let off the pedal. This thing's butt was mine, and I intended to be collecting my winnings from Crowley before the night was over.

Sam was a little more reserved. "Dean, I don't like this. It has to be a trick. Why would he back off now?"

I didn't have the answer, so I shrugged. "I'm trying to think it's because God is on our side," I quipped. "But somehow I doubt that's the real reason."

"We're heading back out on the coastal road," Sam noted with a frown as we passed a small and very hard to see sign. He pondered a second, and then turned to face Vickers. "Is there anything out this way except the old lighthouse?" He asked the priest.

"No…not that I'm aware of," the padre seemed to think about it. "No, just the lighthouse," he confirmed.

I glanced at him through the rearview and saw his face turn grim. "Padre, does someone still live out here?"

Vickers nodded, his features pained. "Daniel Wayne and his ten-year-old son, Simon. The place got a little ramshackle for awhile, but Daniel has been restoring it to its former glory. Did you know it used to be home to the town's radio station?"

"No, but I coulda guessed," I mumbled, thinking once again back to Carpenter's movie _The Fog._ That was a moot point right now though.

For reason or reasons unknown, the trucker had given up on Vickers and moved onto his next victims.

And one of them was a kid.

The rig vanished around a corner in front of me and I floored the gas to try and catch up. I couldn't let a kid die, not on Christmas Eve.

I felt the Impala's wheel sway a little in my grasp and knew that I was going too fast, but I didn't slow.

The truck should have been visible again now, but it wasn't. It was like it had simply ceased to exist.

"He's gone," Sam stated the obvious.

"No he's not." I pointed to our left and realized we had almost overshot our mark. The semi has veered off the road and onto a section of grass that sat adjacent the lighthouse.

None of us had actually thought to look up in the blanket of grey around us, but if we had, we'd have spotted the beam from the tower reaching out through the gloom.

I quickly slammed my foot on the brake and jerked the wheel in the direction of the now static truck. The Impala groaned but complied, and within about five seconds, my baby was parked literally next to a rig from Hell.

"What…what's happening?" Vickers looked terrified on the back seat, and I wished that there was something I could have said to console him, but really, there wasn't. It was all or bust now.

And the way our luck was going, bust was definitely on the cards.

"We have to go inside. Daniel and his son are in danger," Sam tried to explain with a little more finesse than I could. "I'm not saying its safe here, but you'd be better off to stay in the car and wait this out…"

Vickers winced. "You mean I'm still a target, and if that thing still chooses to, it could come out here and…"

"Tear you a new one? Pretty much, yeah." I'm not so articulate, I know, but sometimes it's best to be blunt. "Don't worry, though, Padre, we're really gonna try and not let that happen."

I looked at the Chevy's clock. No more time for small talk.

Sam saw the direction of my gaze and nodded. We both re-filled our shotguns, stuffing the remaining spare shells in our pockets, and from the corner of my eye, I swear I saw Sammy say a silent prayer.

I shoved open the Impala door and she creaked a doleful goodbye to me as usual. I smiled at how much I took the old girl for granted, then set off for the lighthouse door at full speed with Sam hot on my heels.

Ominously, the door hung slightly ajar as we reached it, and I was tempted to shout out Wayne's name, but then that would be giving the enemy the head's up we had arrived.

Who was I kidding? The freak would know we were here anyway.

I nodded for Sam to cover me and as he nodded back, I kicked the door wide.

Inside the lighthouse was pitch black.

No lights, no sign of life at all.

I glanced around using my small penlight to illuminate the scene.

There was a room to my right that appeared empty, then just a large spiral iron staircase that led into a black abyss that was the upper storeys.

I looked up through the steps as Sam joined me. "One hell of a stairway to heaven huh?" I mumbled.

Sam smirked, getting the irony of my song title description. "For us, it's more likely to be a highway to hell," he quipped back sombrely.

"Let's find out, Sasquatch." I took the steps two at a time until I reached the first level. It was slightly brighter here as shafts of light filtered through the damaged floor from the giant reflector above.

A mist still covered the floor itself, hovering about twelve inches high.

Not high enough, though, to hide yet another body.

I grimaced, realizing we were once again too late. "Poor sonofabitch didn't stand a chance," I sighed, my eyes darting to and fro for signs of the perp.

Sam kneeled and resting his shotgun on his knee, rolled the corpse over.

The body was shredded, just like the others, hair, flesh, bone entrails all spewing out of a torn up, bloodied cadaver.

This must be Daniel Wayne, but what of his son, Simon?

I felt my stomach pancake as I envisaged a kid as mangled as the body before us, and without giving it a second thought, I started up the stairs again, my shotgun shaking slightly in my hand as rage coursed through me.

I didn't get chance to get to the next level before someone cried out.

And it was too high pitched a scream to be an adult.

"Simon!" I yelled the boy's name. "Simon, I'm coming on up, don't you dare get your ass killed!" I come out with the most stupid sentences when under pressure, what can I say? But the sentiment remains solid, however idiotic the phrase.

I could hear Sam's huge frame pounding up the stairs behind me, but would we,_ could_ we make a difference now?

I reached the next storey first – I was directly below the actual light room now and the fog was somehow heavier here. I twisted my light onto a wider beam and glanced around, but there was nothing.

The scream came again and I spun around, still brandishing my sawed off.

There was a door to the outside, I could feel the draught from it now. It was swinging wildly, and I had no way of knowing if it led to a sheer drop, or to some kind of walkway.

I headed for it anyway, because the kid was somewhere out there.

The open door led onto an iron walkway that should have gone all the way around the top of the tower. Now though, through age and corrosion, parts were missing.

A special scaffolding had been constructed to make repairs, and this hung below where I was standing.

A guttural growl erupted behind me, and I took in a breath as I turned.

Usually, you can't see hellhounds, but tonight they must have been feeling pretty friggin' special because two mutts the size of donkeys were eyeing me up, their scarlet orbs wide and hungry looking.

I swallowed, but there was no time for fear.

_The kid… _

I sensed Sam at my side and dared to glance at him. He was leaning forwards over the rusty railings, totally ignoring the hellhounds stare.

"Dean! Down below!"

Sam's face told me whatever he was seeing was bad, and I quickly risked taking my gaze from the still snarling creatures to take a look.

The kid, Simon was hanging precariously from the scaffolding beneath us – but he hadn't just fallen there, he'd been skewered by one of the metal poles. The broken shaft had sliced straight through him and he was now dangling from it, only the strength of his flesh keeping him from falling.

Maybe the fear of the hellhounds had actually driven him to risk jumping?

Anyway, I've seen some sights in my time as a hunter, but I wanted to gag at the scene beneath me.

What was worse, I now realized why the hounds were simply watching.

They were guarding the kid, effectively staving off any rescue attempt until he gave in and died and they reaped his soul.

I had no doubt that if Sam or me moved to try and climb down, the dribbling hounds would pounce.

It was the kind of mental torture Crowley, and obviously his trucker friend, loved.

I passed my shotgun to Sam, took off my jacket and then flipped the "dogs" the bird. "Y'know what?" I growled back at them. "Screw you, 'cause tonight you _so_ don't get this kid's soul."

I moved to haul my butt over the fragile handrail and found myself staring into the kid's eyes. He was still awake, his lips moving, but no sound coming from his throat.

I read his lips anyway, repeating the words over and over in my head.

_Help me…_

As I made my move, I heard the hellhounds frenziedly barking, and I knew they were diving right for me.

I heard the double blast of Sam's shotgun trying to protect me, but the rock salt did little to repel these beasts. They howled, even more outraged.

Unable to stop myself, I mechanically whirled back to protect my brother. And as I turned, I saw the lead creature pounce, hurling its nubile frame onto Sam.

Sam dropped his weapon and grabbed the thing by the throat, barely holding it off. I could see its scathing talons grazing his skin as it lashed out, and I felt helpless.

The second hound made a beeline for me, and I accepted that my skin would be flayed from my bones as it once had before by its fangs.

"Down!"

The hellhound seemed to stop in mid-flight, dropping to the iron walkway like a stone. It whimpered, tail tucked between its legs, and then it ran, vanishing like a wraith into the fog that still ebbed around us.

I took a breath and looked over to Sam.

The other hound attacking him had disappeared too.

"What the…"

I was about to utter every curse and expletive known to man, either out of thankfulness I was still alive, or because I was as confused as hell.

Sam stopped me simply with his gaze.

My eyes locked with his and then I followed his stare, suddenly remembering the voice that had commanded the hellhounds off us.

Standing a few feet away from me and Sam and almost completely veiled by the mist was the trucker.

He didn't say anything at first, but his steely blue eyes looked at us like he was the one seeing ghosts.

I blinked, appraising the plaid-shirted being who wore a bandana over his face.

Why had Crowley's little helper stopped us from being hound chow?

"I hope you're not expecting thanks for calling off Crowley's four-legged-freaks," I growled. "'Cause you're going back to Hell right along with them."

The trucker stepped closer until the beam from the lens above us illuminated his form. With a hand, he pulled down the bandana, finally allowing me and Sam to see his face.

"I would not expect anything less. In fact, I'd welcome it. However, I won't be going back to Hell."

The gruff voice, the parched lips, the bitter look of a man that had seen and done far too much.

I opened my mouth, but words failed me and I just stood there, gaping.

Eventually, I cleared my throat and managed his name. The name of someone I never thought I would see again.

"Cas…"

"You can't be here," I heard Sam say. "We watched you…I mean…"

"You watched my mortal vessel explode." Cas agreed. "Yes, but God had other plans for my spirit, _my essence_."

"God," I choked out. "Then how come your ass is here working for Crowley all over again?"

Cas looked sad and his eyes dropped to the mist at his feet. "Because I betrayed God. I sinned by defying his most sacred commandments, and I must be punished for that."

"You're an angel, for crying out loud," I spat angrily. "What would God get outta sending your ass to Hell?"

"The same thing he got from sending Lucifer's," Cas countered. "Fallen angels must pay dearly, and there can be no greater sentence than to be forced into the pit. Forced to do the bidding of the very thing we were created to fight."

I looked at Sam and we both nodded.

"Can't argue with you there," Sam agreed. "Hell is well…_hell_."

"So Chuck gets his rocks off by turning you into Crowley's bitch? Man, that sucks. This whole night sucks."

"You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally. I…apparently, did not."

I couldn't help but smile at his way with words, forgetting just for a second why we were here. "It's good to see you, dude."

Cas frowned, and it wasn't until then I realized how strange he looked without that long overcoat of his.

"I wish it was good to see you too," he said softly. "But I am bound to do Crowley's bidding now. I have no choice. No free will. It was all I could do to back off at the church. I have tried fighting it, but it's no use."

I realized what he was saying.

He had been sent to collect all the town's souls for this year, and even though it was against everything he stood for, he had not choice to comply with Crowley's orders.

Worse still, I had a very bad feeling that this was the reason Sammy and me had been brought to St Anthony's Cove in the first place.

Chuck and Crowley were playing one big game here, and we were the pawns.

"There are only four minutes left until midnight, Dean," Cas sighed. "And I must finish my task whether I wish to or not."

I looked over the railing at the bleeding kid, almost invisible in the amassing fog. "I can't let you touch him, you know that, don't you?" My eyes pleaded with the fallen angel. "Cas, fight it, _dammit._ Don't let that stuffed up little jerk of a demon beat you. You're still an angel at heart. You've backed off once tonight. You can do it again."

Cas clenched his fists, his mind and body battling some inner conflict. "I cannot," he said through gritted teeth. "I need_ you_ to stop me, Dean."

So this was it.

I'd killed Amy because of the things she would do if I left her alone.

I had snuffed out the life of someone who had once saved Sam.

And now, now Sam had to return that act and take down Cas, because no matter what he'd done, I just didn't have the jewels to kill Castiel any more than Sam had been able to kill Amy.

Cas's blue eyes looked longingly to my brother. "Finish it, Sam. Let my immortal soul be at peace instead of eternal torment."

Sam swallowed hard and pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket. He shook his head, and despite the things Cas had done in Crowley's name, I knew he didn't want to do what he had to. "I'm sorry," he said to the angel.

Then slowly, carefully, Sam began to recite the Latin on the page before him.

"Well done for getting this far, lads." Crowley appeared between us and Cas. He had a long black trench coat on that made it look like he'd just been to a funeral. "I can't just stand around and let my boy accept your little ritual without a fight, though."

He turned to Cas. "Castiel, have you forgotten you work for _me_ now? Go get the boy's soul, it's what I pay you for…well, not technically pay, but then, you shouldn't have been a bad lad in heaven now, should you?"

The demon grinned, and I could see Cas trying to fight whatever hold Crowley had on him, but it was no use.

"Faster Sam, dammit!" I looked at my watch. No wonder Crowley had made an appearance to spur Cas on. One minute left until midnight.

One minute, win or lose.

Cas moved a few steps towards us, but I could see he was still fighting his destiny, fighting to save the night from anymore deaths.

"Why is it I always have to do my own work around here?" Crowley gestured with his hand and instantly I heard the growl of the hellhounds as they bounded towards us from nowhere.

Sam talked faster and faster, his voice reaching out across the night and cutting through the fog, through the spell that held Castiel to this mortal world.

The hellhounds made a gigantic leap.

And behind me I heard the sound of a cuckoo clock on the lighthouse wall begin to chime midnight.

From somewhere Crowley's unmistakable cry of "Bollocks!" filled the air.

And on the second chime of the clock, Sam finished the ritual and there was an explosion of light that seemed to suck in the fog around us like an oversized vacuum cleaner.

The mist was swallowed into the void in front of us along with both hellhounds and several pieces of scaffolding.

Everything happened so quickly I just had time to see Cas nod to me before he too was enveloped by the shroud and everything imploded.

Two seconds later, I found myself on my ass on the iron walkway with Sam crumpled at my side.

"That sucked," I growled, not having time to really think of anything more suitable to describe the carnage.

"At least Crowley's gone," Sam noted as he scrambled to his feet and then helped me up. "Think he got sucked into whatever that was too?"

"We're not that lucky," I groused.

The clock chimed again and it brought me to my senses.

"The kid, Sammy!" Before my brother could respond, I'd dived over the iron rail and was climbing down the scaffolding with little regard for my own safety.

Simon's eyes were closed now, and he hung limp.

Maybe Crowley had been busy taking one last soul while everything else had been going down?

No, I refused to believe that.

"Not on Christmas Eve," I kept whispering. "Not tonight of all nights…"

Once I found a safe perch at the same level as the kid, I quickly took stock of the situation and how best to lift him from the metal pole. I knew as soon as I pulled him free he was likely to start bleeding even more profusely.

_Crowley you bastard, you're not taking one more soul tonight, not one…_my mind was screaming profanities at the demon, but deep down I wasn't so sure it wasn't already too late.

I leaned over, testing Simon's weight before gently lifting him upwards, effectively having to pull the pole back through him and out.

I expected him to groan, to yelp, heck, even just his eyelids to flutter, but there was no indication he was alive. And truth be told, I didn't have it in me to actually feel for a pulse.

_He's alive, he has to be. Christmas, remember? _The voice in my head was keeping me going, keeping me focused, but I wasn't sure it was my own. _You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally…_

As Simon came free of the shaft of metal, I felt spatters of his blood spray on my face. I ignored it, and reaching up, passed his prone body to Sam.

Sam took him carefully, his strength tugging Simon over the railing and out of sight.

And the clock chimed again.

How many gongs left until today was in fact tomorrow and St Anthony's Cove was free?

I clambered back up the scaffolding, my hands slipping on moisture that had formed on its cold surface.

As I reached the rail, I hauled my butt over and landed softly next to Sam and the kid.

To his credit, my brother was working on Simon as good as any E.M.T. He'd torn of a segment of his shirt to try and staunch the flow of blood, but even as I looked at him, he was shaking his head.

"It's no use, Dean, He's gone."

My eyes focused on Simon's lifeless body, his skin a sickly grey, his shirt ragged and bloody.

And this was Christmas?

_You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally…_

"No!" I cried out like a father who was losing his son. "No, I won't let this happen. Not here, not now!"

I began pounding on the kid's chest, wanting,_ willing_ him to breath. There had to be a reason for all the lives I'd taken, a point to all the things I'd done over the years, or what had it all been for?

"Dean, he's gone…"

I ignored my brother's pleas and kept working. I wasn't sure if I had faith in God, or in heaven, or any of those things, but I knew in my heart the kid didn't deserve to die on a foggy night in December just because some jackass of a relative made a screwed up deal with a demon.

"C'mon, c'mon," I growled.

The cuckoo clock hooted its final chime of the night, ending Crowley's reign and bringing in Christmas morning.

And as it did, Simon finally groaned like I'd expected him to earlier, sucking down one huge breath before settling into a ragged rhythm.

I collapsed back onto my butt and took down a long breath of my own.

For one night only, maybe, just maybe I'd had faith.

Sam glanced at me and smiled. His expression saying a thousand things words alone couldn't. Then, he scooped up little Simon and made a mad dash for the Impala.

I gathered myself and followed, hoping that somewhere in town there was some kind of medical facility.

As we made it to the car, I noted that along with Cas and the hellhounds, the semi had also vanished.

Did that mean the souls it had carried were now free?

Maybe I'd never know. For now, it didn't matter.

I cranked the Impala's engine as Sam climbed onto the back seat with Simon, and as his "Gigantor" feet left the gravel I hit the gas, spinning a one-eighty before my brother had even had chance to close the door.

It was Christmas, and the only gift I could give this day was life.

I didn't intend to let Simon down.

….

_**Seagrass Motel**_

_**Christmas Morning**_

After dropping the kid off at the local medical center, Sam and I didn't get much chance to sleep – at least not properly. We dropped Vickers off back at the church to find his dog safe and sound, we gave old "Norman" a bit of a send off out back, pretty much finished off any beers and bourbon we had stashed in his honour, and then just dozed for an hour or so until daybreak.

How the heck do you celebrate a whacked out Christmas like that anyways?

I called the medical center a couple of times about Simon, and it looked like he was going to make it. He had no parents left alive, but his grandma from Pennsylvania was already on her way, so things were looking up for him at least.

As I shut off my cell after the last call, I looked around at Sam who had dropped to sleep in the chair. His head was all crooked, and he'd probably have one hell of a neck ache when he woke, but he looked pretty peaceful considering what we'd been through.

By his side on the table was the tiny Christmas tree he'd magicked up the night before out of his bag.

Right now, there was a parcel sitting next to it, crudely wrapped in festive foil paper – a parcel that was twice the size of the actual tree.

I smiled to myself. Sammy always did like to have his Christmas, no matter where we ended up out on the road.

Nosy, I sauntered on over to the gift and checked for a tag. There wasn't one, but as I hadn't put it there, the parcel had to be for me, right?

I set down the mug of coffee I had in my hand and began to pull away the ribbon and paper to reveal what was within.

I stopped halfway, unable to unwrap the thing any further.

Sam wouldn't be so damn crass, would he?

I felt angry, hurt even, that he'd do this. After everything we'd been through, after he knew how I felt…

Inside the parcel, carefully washed and ironed was Cas's old overcoat. It had been folded so painstakingly it looked like a professional cleaner had been around the thing.

But Sam hadn't time for that after the previous night, so what was this, a well planned and pretty thoughtless joke?

No way, Sam wasn't like that.

I tossed down the parcel, unable to touch it, and was about to shake my brother awake to explain himself, but there was an abrupt knock at the motel room door.

Who the heck would call on us this time of year?

_Leviathan! _My mind warned. _You dared to stick your ass in a motel for the holidays instead of laying low, you dared to use the Impala, and this is where it's gotten you. Way to go Winchesters!_

I pulled my Colt and keeping it out of sight, opened the door.

I have to be honest, I'd expected many things, from Bobby to a full-on whacked out Leviathan, teeth ready to tear me a new one.

What I hadn't expected was Castiel, stark butt naked standing outside a grimy motel door in St Anthony's Cove.

The angel looked at me with those baby blues apologetically, like a rugrat that's just put a window through with his baseball. "I…appear to have lost something."

I glanced up and down at him and grunted. "You don't say?" Then I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room.

Sam was still snoring lightly, so I kicked him.

"Huh?" He snorted, rubbing his eyes and doing a double take at our new guest. "Am I still asleep?"

He actually looked like he might be, but I had bigger fishy to fry.

I picked up the parcel I'd tossed earlier and pulled out the overcoat. "Better put this on before you get arrested for streaking or something," I offered with just a little snark. "Guess someone other than me and Sam was expecting you."

Sam finally realized he was awake and his eyes grew even wider. "Cas…I thought I…"

"It would seem God has decided I deserve another chance." He looked up and down himself again. "However, as I said, I appear to have lost something."

"Yeah, we kinda noticed you're naked as a jaybird." I grinned.

Cas' brow furrowed and he looked slightly annoyed. "That was not what I meant." He licked his permanently parched lips. "It would seem Father has taken away my Grace, so that I cannot use my gifts…" he paused, obviously pained by his past transgressions. "Unwisely anymore…"

"So you're basically human now?" Sam asked, rubbing at his neck.

"It would appear so."

"Chuck took away your angel mojo, but let you live. Gee, that was generous of him," I said sarcastically, then glanced at the gift wrap on the floor and Cas's overcoat. "What? Are you my Christmas present from the big "G?""

Cas didn't seem to have the answer, and for a time we simply all stared at one another. It was the most buckets of crazy situation I've ever been in, not to mention my most whacked Christmas to date, even counting the Madge and Edward Carrigan affair back in Michigan.

"I hurt so many people…" Cas eventually sighed, his recent deeds obviously weighing heavy on him. "Perhaps God is punishing me again for all my transgressions."

"Dude, God kinda made you that way. He up and left knowing you angels weren't firing on all cylinders. I mean no offence, but your kind are so naive it ain't even funny."

I was defending him, I know. But apart from Sam and Bobby, Cas is the closest thing I've had to family in awhile.

He nodded, but his face said he wasn't so sure. "All those souls in this town…"

"It wasn't like you could stop yourself. Crowley was holding the reins," Sam tried to help.

Cas still looked like a man about to be hanged. Or maybe a man who thought he ought to be hanged. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But I shall endeavour to be a better person now that I have this chance." He looked at me. "That is, if you'd lend me some clothes?"

I slapped him on the back and felt better than I had in months. Finally steering the bus away from the cliff felt like it was worth it.

And maybe Chuck wasn't such an asshat after all. Apparently God even made mistakes, and now he was setting them right like he should have already.

"Are you sure my duds aren't a little too macho to go under that _Columbo_ coat," I teased, fishing a Henley and some jeans out of my bag.

"They will suffice, thank you." He took the clothes and began getting dressed.

"So," Sam looked bewildered. "What will you do now?"

"You could always ride shotgun with me and Sammy," I offered, thinking the ex-angel wouldn't really know of anywhere else to go. "I mean, without your powers you'd probably suck as a hunter, but we'd forgive you."

Cas didn't miss a beat. "Thank you, but I have _other_…responsibilities now, and my being here would only upset the family bond you two have managed to rebuild. No, it's time for me to give something back I took many months ago."

I folded my arms and Sam huge brow furrowed.

"You do?" Sam asked.

Cas plopped down on the edge of my bed, now thankfully fully clothed. "I'm going to Pontiac," he said matter-of-factly. "It's time Amelia and Claire had a husband and father in their lives again. It is the one good deed I can do on this earth, angel or not."

I balked. "You're giving up _your vessel_? What about you?"

Cas smiled. "Jimmy and I have come to a mutual agreement. It is time for me to take the back seat for awhile."

"But you'll still be along for the ride?" Sam questioned. "I mean, you won't give up the body altogether and..?"

"No, I will be riding shotgun, as you put it, but Jimmy will have his life, his family back. It is the least I can do."

I wasn't convinced it was the right thing, but it obviously meant a lot to Castiel to do something inherently good for a change after his recent rampages.

I couldn't help but think that Chuck hadn't let him back to roam Earth to do something so simple as give Jimmy Novak his life back, but that was for Chuck and Cas to figure out as they went along.

Heck, Chuck was the writer in all this, after all. Although, some days, I gotta tell you I think that guy has totally jumped the shark and will get his "show" cancelled next season.

Anyway, I looked at Cas and then Sam and decided for now, it was Christmas, and the world of creatures from Hell, Purgatory, or wherever, could wait a few damn hours longer to get their asses ganked.

"Okay," I said to Cas. "You get to go to Illinois. Heck, Sammy and me will even drive your wingless butt there. _But, _today, we eat drink and be merry…" I cringed as I looked around the room. "At least, we do if I can find a store open to buy more food and beer from at Christmas."

Cas licked his lips and that normally straight face of his cracked into a smile that warmed the cockles of my heart. "That sounds…very good," he agreed.

I grabbed my keys to go out to my baby and then paused at the door. "Oh, anyone for pie?"

There was short pause and both Sam and Cas found something to toss at me.

Was it something I said?

…

_**Epilogue. **_

As soon as Dean left the motel I realized I hadn't a clue what to say to Cas. We'd always been friends, yes, but not on the scale he and Dean had. After all, he'd pulled Dean from Hell, and they'd shared a kind of bond after that. Me, I wasn't sure he'd trusted for awhile until we'd gotten to know one another.

Which to be honest, was exactly the way I felt about him right this second.

I mean, how did we actually know Cas had been brought back by God? This could be a Leviathan waiting to bite my head off, but because he/it looked like Cas, Dean had believed unconditionally.

Could Cas get resurrected so many times?

Then again, Dean and I had written the book on that one.

I glanced at him uncertainly and he cocked his head.

"It is alright not to trust me. Were I in your position, I would not."

I squirmed. He knew what I was thinking, but then, if it was a Leviathan, it would have Castiel's memories. I shook my head. "No man, I'm good."

Cas shook his head. "For your own piece of mind, you must test me. Holy water, Borax, whatever you choose." He pulled his overcoat sleeve up and I found myself feeling incredibly stupid for not trusting him.

"Please?" He asked again.

I shrugged and pulled out a couple of small bottles from my bag. In turn, I poured the contents onto the flesh of his forearm, but nothing happened.

Cas looked at me and nodded and I felt more guilty, even though I wasn't the one who'd been riding around town with a couple of hellhounds creating havoc.

"Sorry," I heard myself apologize without even thinking about it.

"You had a right to know. A right to be certain."

I looked at him.

Really_ looked_ this time.

Cas seemed weary, drained, even. Maybe it was the weight on his conscience?

I thought about "Norman," Hank, Denny…

Then it hit me.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound pleasant, even though I had a not so pleasant question. "Do you mind me asking one thing? About when Crowley was controlling you, I mean?"

Cas shrugged. "I will answer if I can."

"Why did you kill Denny? I mean, you had two chances before we got to the church, and did nothing. We thought she wasn't on your hit list."

This time Castiel seemed genuinely surprised. "I did not kill the girl. She had no ancestors in St Anthony's Cove, ergo, there was no contract to collect on for her soul."

I frowned. "We saw her go down screaming. Maybe one of the hellhounds got a little jaw happy or something?"

"No." Cas shook his head. "They answered only to me and Crowley. They have no free will anymore than I did, of that I am certain." He looked as puzzled as I felt.

"Maybe I can help you out here, fellas?"

Cas and I both turned to see Crowley standing at the door. He looked even more tired than Cas, and this time he sported a thick growth of stubble that was almost a beard.

Could he move through time like an angel could? And if so, what had he been up to that required such use of his powers?

I shook the thought away. "What do you want?" I sighed. "We won the bet fair and square."

Crowley laughed. "With a little help from me and my ritual." He sauntered between me and Cas. "I have to say, I didn't think Dean would have the balls to actually use it on his pet angel, but what the hell."

"You were going to explain why you killed Denny?" I pressed the demon.

"Who me?" He feigned an innocent expression. "Not me, Sam my boy. In fact, nobody killed her, at least, not last night. You see the real Denise Fairborn died about six weeks ago in Denver."

"Shapeshifter?" I guessed wildly.

Crowley tutted. "Not even close. When I say die, I use the term rather loosely. What I should be saying is _consumed_ by one of Dick's little helpers." He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"You're saying Denny was _a Leviathan_?" I'm sure I gaped – shouldn't really let the king of Hell know what I'm thinking like that, but hey, I wasn't ready for him.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Finally the boy catches on."

"So why didn't she kill us when she had all those opportunities?"

"My, haven't you Winchesters got a high opinion of yourselves," the demon sniffed then leaned so close to me I could smell his fetid breath. "She didn't kill you, because she wasn't here for a bunch of mere hunters. She was here to find Chuckles." Crowley looked worried as he spoke now. "You just don't get it, do you?"

I shook my head. "The Leviathan are looking for God?"

"More than looking, they want his lily-white arse served up to them on a skewer, and Dick and his boys are getting powerful enough to do it."

I was getting it now. "So Chuck didn't come back to answer Dean's demand for help, he came back to sort out the mess he caused when he created those things."

"Something like that," Crowley admitted. "Why do you think I didn't push for your souls last night in our little deal? Because we all need one another now. We need to fight those bloody things together."

I grimaced. "We're not getting into bed with you again, Crowley." I shot a warning glance to Cas, just in case he had any wild ideas. "And neither is he," I snapped, meaning the ex-angel.

"Fair enough." Crowley sniffed. "But you boys just remember one thing. Chuckles might have saved your arses this time, but heaven nor hell can defeat the Leviathan anymore, not on our own. See, your wonderful God created those bastards first, before the angels, before man, and he made them so powerful even he was scared of them and had to stick them in Purgatory."

"We'll find a way to kill them. We found the Borax, we'll find something stronger." I tried to sound more confident than I was feeling.

Crowley didn't seem convinced. He walked to the motel room door and then turned back as he was exiting, as if he'd had an afterthought.

"I hope you do, Sam my boy, because if the Leviathan have their way, this time next year, there won't be a God, and there certainly won't be a Christmas for you to celebrate…"

I opened my mouth to answer, but realized he'd already gone, and that I had nothing to say anyway.

If Lucifer had been a formidable enemy, then the Leviathan were the ultimate one.

And to quote Dean, I wasn't sure we could steer this bus away from the cliff anymore.

All I know is because we're Winchesters, we'll keep on swinging until the very end, or we'll die trying…

The End


End file.
